(no subject)
i actually wrote that entry yesterday, my compter mustve been screwy, tis my parents' after all!
i told chris about the giant syringe. h didnt understand why it would so badly make me want to use. i told him if he saw a sign with a gigantic soccer ball on it he would like to play very much, right? he says it isnt the same because "soccer isnt detremental to my health" but that doesnt matter does it? it made me fel good and forget about life. it was a ritual i went through, more complex than lighting a cigarette but along the same lines if you think about it being a habit as well as ritual. i told him with the methadone, i dont feel the urge. i take that back, i'm building a tolerance, so yes, i am now starting to get urges, but i refuse to up my dose. i want it to be gone, but im petrified of getting off it. i dont use when i'm on the methadone because i know i wont feel a goddamned thing, and itll just fuck me with the uds, then i lose my one day a week take-home. but still, i talked with many people in detox who were iv users and we all agreed: after a while, even if you arent dope sick, even if youre better and dont want to use any more, even if you surround yourself in happiness and never look back you still crave the needle.
that needle was more than just the means to my end when i was getting high. every time i pickd it up, looked at it, held it, tied off my beaten arms...i knew i was hurting myself, that initial pan before the release and rush of blood and high, knowing that every time i did it, it could potentially kill me through a collapsed vein, or cotton fever, or an infection, or an od. i would shoot sugar water every day if i knew it wouldnt leave the horrible track lines on my arms that are still visible now.
i've always loved needles, in fact i'm hinking about fixing up and changing a tatoo on my lower bck a little, i'm thinking about where else i can pierce, i'm thinking about the next time i hafta go to a doctor so they can take bloodwork. just anything to temporarily stop the emptiness from not having that anymore.
chris says i'm sick because of that. i know i am. we all are who do it. he doesnt understand why its so hard for me and everyone else going through withdrawal, cuz he isnt having a problem dealing with it, but he got addicted because the drug just has such a strong hold on people and you have to use it to keep from getting extremely ill. i was addicted the moment i stole the shot of whiskey from my grandfather's basement, the first time i got high from pot...its always been something with me, ive bounced around forever, going from one drug to the next, switching every time something lost its effectiveness. i never meant to be like this. i never meant for my life to come to this point.
ive never had such a hard time with any drug after ive quit. but the last two years. what have i done? very day a new memory comes back. a sunny day in spring when i was working in greenfield, beautiful blue sky and im sitting in the car with my works and my bags and a water bottle before i start cleaning someones house. the falls and winters i spent with sara sitting in the car copping, anxious as hell to have it in our hands, laughing our asses off about how jumpy/excited we were when we saw him, and then screaming out songs as we drove back to her house. it wasnt bad until the last 8 months.
2 months earlier chris found out what i was doing, i had been shooting for 4 months by that point, not all the time, just a couple days a week, i never even got sick. and he wanted me to stop, and i tried, but within a couple days after i wouldve done it if i kept on schedule, i couldnt sleep, i couldnt keep my legs still, i was going nuts in my mind, and i just couldnt do it.
and once chris started with me...that was the end. we perpetuated each other, but i was always worse because i was hiding it from him how much i was doing at once and over the course of a day. not to mention he was only sniffing, he got about 60% less of it into his blood, so yeah it wouldnt be as hard for him.
i told chris about the giant syringe. h didnt understand why it would so badly make me want to use. i told him if he saw a sign with a gigantic soccer ball on it he would like to play very much, right? he says it isnt the same because "soccer isnt detremental to my health" but that doesnt matter does it? it made me fel good and forget about life. it was a ritual i went through, more complex than lighting a cigarette but along the same lines if you think about it being a habit as well as ritual. i told him with the methadone, i dont feel the urge. i take that back, i'm building a tolerance, so yes, i am now starting to get urges, but i refuse to up my dose. i want it to be gone, but im petrified of getting off it. i dont use when i'm on the methadone because i know i wont feel a goddamned thing, and itll just fuck me with the uds, then i lose my one day a week take-home. but still, i talked with many people in detox who were iv users and we all agreed: after a while, even if you arent dope sick, even if youre better and dont want to use any more, even if you surround yourself in happiness and never look back you still crave the needle.
that needle was more than just the means to my end when i was getting high. every time i pickd it up, looked at it, held it, tied off my beaten arms...i knew i was hurting myself, that initial pan before the release and rush of blood and high, knowing that every time i did it, it could potentially kill me through a collapsed vein, or cotton fever, or an infection, or an od. i would shoot sugar water every day if i knew it wouldnt leave the horrible track lines on my arms that are still visible now.
i've always loved needles, in fact i'm hinking about fixing up and changing a tatoo on my lower bck a little, i'm thinking about where else i can pierce, i'm thinking about the next time i hafta go to a doctor so they can take bloodwork. just anything to temporarily stop the emptiness from not having that anymore.
chris says i'm sick because of that. i know i am. we all are who do it. he doesnt understand why its so hard for me and everyone else going through withdrawal, cuz he isnt having a problem dealing with it, but he got addicted because the drug just has such a strong hold on people and you have to use it to keep from getting extremely ill. i was addicted the moment i stole the shot of whiskey from my grandfather's basement, the first time i got high from pot...its always been something with me, ive bounced around forever, going from one drug to the next, switching every time something lost its effectiveness. i never meant to be like this. i never meant for my life to come to this point.
ive never had such a hard time with any drug after ive quit. but the last two years. what have i done? very day a new memory comes back. a sunny day in spring when i was working in greenfield, beautiful blue sky and im sitting in the car with my works and my bags and a water bottle before i start cleaning someones house. the falls and winters i spent with sara sitting in the car copping, anxious as hell to have it in our hands, laughing our asses off about how jumpy/excited we were when we saw him, and then screaming out songs as we drove back to her house. it wasnt bad until the last 8 months.
2 months earlier chris found out what i was doing, i had been shooting for 4 months by that point, not all the time, just a couple days a week, i never even got sick. and he wanted me to stop, and i tried, but within a couple days after i wouldve done it if i kept on schedule, i couldnt sleep, i couldnt keep my legs still, i was going nuts in my mind, and i just couldnt do it.
and once chris started with me...that was the end. we perpetuated each other, but i was always worse because i was hiding it from him how much i was doing at once and over the course of a day. not to mention he was only sniffing, he got about 60% less of it into his blood, so yeah it wouldnt be as hard for him.